Modern Warfare Redux
by dryskim
Summary: If Infinity Ward had created Modern Warfare whilst on acid, this would be the result.  Now with 40% more undead, vampires and werewolves!
1. Baby Teeth

War is ever changing, new modes of killing are developed everyday, and sometimes, sometimes, more then one new weapon of destruction is developed in a single day. Surely you could not think that five years in the future technology had not improved? That perhaps, war was not yet 'Modern' enough? But this, this is the true story of the war. The true story of the war between Russia and America, as told by me, an obviously amazing writer who was not on an acid trip when this masterpiece was written. And so begins our tale, a tale of deception, of heroism, of brotherhood, of giant robots fighting Russian vampires and werewolves for the sake of being awesome.

This is Modern Warfare Redux

(Now with 40% more Vampires, Werewolves, Giant Mechs, and reanimated corpses)

It was stereotypically quiet day at the Task Force 141 base, the birds were chirping, the frogs were croaking, and the sound of automatic weapons was filling the hills with wonderful music. Well, at least, if you were Captain 'Soap' MacTavish it'd come off as beautiful music. The Captain continued his stroll through the base at a leisurely pace, he had a meeting with General Shepherd but he had left early so he had plenty of time.

Meanwhile, at the rifle range, Ghost and Roach were engaged in weapons training. The Sergeant cradling an Adaptive Combat Rifle in his arms, or an ACR as it was more commonly known, Ghost meanwhile was explaining how he'd rigged the targets up with high explosives which would detonate when struck.

"Ghost, this is incredibly stupid and dangerous. Even by your standards."

"And that's why it's fun, bug!" Ghost replied with glee, slapping the Sergeant on the back, "I'll go first!"

A large explosion rocked the base followed by Ghost hooping and hollering, his mask slightly shinged by the blast and Roach's eyebrows burnt off entirely.

"That was bloody amazing! Let's do it again!"

"You're friggin' crazy, you know that?" Roach snapped, ripping his Keffiyeh off his neck as the thin material caught fire at the edges.

* * *

><p>"Captain MacTavish, it's an honor to finally meet you face to face."<p>

"The pleasure's all mine, though when you said face to face, I figured you meant face to face." MacTavish replied, the soft hum of the telescreen which depicted Shepherd's face filling the room as the Captain spoke.

"As you know, MacTavish, things aren't exactly peachy in the world and I'm needed elsewhere."

"Understood, sir. What are our orders?" MacTavish asked, jumping straight to the point.

"As you know, Vladimir Makarov is our primary target. He's been involved in everything from murder, smuggling, biological terrorism, but most recently, he was caught on tape stealing from an orphanage."

"So when do we get 'em?"

"Straight to the point, I like that in a soldier." Shepherd replied, flashing a toothy grin, "Unfortunately for you, we've already got a man on the inside. Joseph Allen's been feeding us intel for the past month on the situation."

"Allen, sir?"

"Allen's in hell right now, and you're going to walk him out."

* * *

><p>"The American thought he could deceive us," Makarov said, his one green eye and one blue eye boring into Borodin's, though the mole had the luxury of having a single eye color, "But now, we show him what happens to those we lie to us. Viktor, how long has it been since you've feasted?"<p>

The mammoth Russian looked at his watch, and smirked, "Too long, Makarov, too long."

"Then we shall feast...however, as per the rules, I get first bite."

"Yes, Makarov, of course. You can't afford to let yourself fall to your blood lust."

"Good, I call his jugular." Makarov said, causing the American to gulp, barring his vampiric teeth before sinking them into the soldier's neck and ripping away, Allen grunting in pain as the slab of flesh was ripped from his neck. The blood dripping from the wound feeling as if a thousand fire ants were picking him apart from the inside, he clawed at the wound, coating his fingers in the sticky substance. The terrorist merely smirked, lapping at the blood like a sadistic dog in a business suit, "Be careful, my friend, your own hunger for blood will begin soon. And soon enough, you'll be one of us. One of many, hungry for blood, hungry for the thrill of killing. One day, you will thank me for this. One day."

"W-what the hell do you mean you Russian bastard?"

Makarov smiled, his teeth now a dull pink, Allen shivered at the sight, "Not everything is as fake as you think it is. You'd be surprised, hell, I'm living proof. Well, maybe not living..." The terrorist paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully, " And maybe they'll give you a cute nickname like, Vampire."

"You're a crazy sonofabitch, you know that! You're just some mentally messed up screwball! No such thing as vampires!"

"Oh, you silly Americans so quick to judge and disbelieve. Never pausing to look at what's right under your nose," The villain flicking the Private on the nose for added effect, "Looks like your baby teeth are finally coming in after all."


	2. Fish 'n' Chips

The tiny Blackhawk helicopter continued on it's course towards Russia, and more specifically, Zakahev International Airport the believed location of Makarov and his associates. The black helicopter, as implied by it's name, hovered above the tarmac before one of the squad members let down the trio of ropes, Captain MacTavish being the first to hit the ground, immediately sweeping the area with his M4A1 Carbine, "We're clear, let's find Allen and get this thing over with. Roach, your little mates find anything of importance?"

"Nah, my little buddies ain't heard nothing." Roach replied, stroking one of the cockroaches that had weaseled it's way out of his sleeve whilst Ghost looked on in mild horror.

"That never ceases to freak me out," he said, watching as the cockroach rubbed itself against Roach's finger like a cat rubs against one's leg.

"Says the man with a skull mask on," Roach replied, sticking his finger out towards the masked soldier, "Wanna pet Fluffy?"

Ghost merely wrinkled his brow, oddly this action managed to wrinkle the fabric of his mask as well making his grumpiness extremely visible, "Sure, I'll pet Fluffy..." he said, his words dripping with sarcasm. Roach smiled back and the cockroach dropped into the masked man's hand. The supposed 'ghost' looked at the mere cockroach before flicking it onto the pavement, "Stupid bug."

Roach instantly threw himself to his knees, scooping up the remains of the innocent cockroach, it's shrieks of terror like nails on a chalkboard to his ears, his shoulders shuddered as he wept for his lost friend, Roach turned back to Ghost, "He had a wife and two kids, you murderous bastard!"

"Enough you two," MacTavish interjected, giving both Roach and Ghost an equally angry glare, "We've got a job to do, and by god we're gonna do it right."

Ghost merely grunted whilst Roach quietly whispered to the dead cockroach in his hand, "It's gonna be alright little buddy, they'll give you a funeral in Arlington. Don't you worry one bit."

"Alright, Ghost, you remember your part of the plan?" MacTavish asked, the trio forming a loose circle as they went over the mission parameters.

"Get my arse captured and find Allen," the masked soldier replied.

"And make it look convincing."

"Aye," Ghost replied, standing up, "Best get to it then."

"Oi, and don't do anything stupid," MacTavish warned, with a sly grin.

"Ah, now I'm hurt. When have I ever done anything stupid?"

* * *

><p>"Makarov, I have eyes on one of the British dogs," Viktor announced, looking up from the security terminal he was monitoring, "Permission for me to deal with this pest?"<p>

Makarov nodded, "And do not underestimate your opponent, especially the one with the mohawk."

"Of course, Makarov, too much is riding on this to fail now." Viktor responded, leaping up into the ceiling tiles out of sight to stalk his prey.

"Yes, and several thousand from our benefactor."

* * *

><p>Ghost continued his trek through the hallways, whistling as he went. No doubt the terrorists had spotted him already and were moving to ambush him, "Roach, the beacon still working?"<p>

"Yeah," Roach replied simply, his army of cockroaches searching the building as well the tiny brown specks barely visible to Ghost as he walked the lonely halls, "It's still transmitting."

"It'd better, I'll be walking like I've got a stick up my arse for a week because of this damn thing," Ghost replied irritably, as an individual dressed in a black trench coat fell from the rafters and landed silently on the tile.

"That won't be the only thing shoved up your ass once Anatoly's had his way with you," the Russian boomed, ripping his trench coat off in one smooth motion before assuming a combat stance.

"Why the 'ell did you bring a trench coat if you were just going to tear it off ten seconds later?" Ghost pondered, bringing up his ACR, and firing off a burst at the target.

Time seemed to almost slow as the Russian simply shifted his weight slightly to the side and the bullets harmlessly impacted the wall behind him, "What the 'ell? Since when was this the goddamn Matrix?"

Viktor said nothing, instead delivering a brutal elbow to Ghost's face, shattering his sunglasses before wrenching the ACR out of the operative's hands and using the stock of the weapon to hit Ghost in the stomach, causing the Brit to double over in pain. Whilst Ghost coughed and wheezed trying to catch his breath, the Russian grabbed him by the back of the head and brought his knee up into the Englishman's face knocking him to the ground.

"Time to end this," Viktor spat, drawing back his fist for the finishing strike, noticing this, Ghost rolled out of the way just as the tile's where his head had laid previously were shattered due to the force, using this momentum, Ghost rolled to his feet drawing his knife. Taking a step forward, Ghost lashed out with the edged weapon, Viktor simply grabbing his wrist at the apex of his swing before throwing Ghost back to the ground and pinning his arm behind his back. Forcing the knife out of the Task Force member's hand, "Now, I was just going to kill you, but, all this fighting's made me hungry and you look like a fine appetizer."

"Me too lad, I could really go for some fish and chips at the moment," Ghost joked, his face resting on the cold white tiles of the airport lobby, "How 'bout you? I'm buying."

"Cute," Viktor replied, lifting the soldier to his feet, "But I've got something better in mind," taking a quick sniff, Viktor said, "Your blood smells delicious, not as pleasant as Allen's but more then good enough to tide me over."

"The 'ell are you? Some kind of cannibal?" Ghost asked, the massive Viktor still holding him by the neck roughly a foot off the ground.

Viktor laughed, "No, we vampires hold ourselves above such petty mortals."

"Vampires? You gotta be pulling my leg. Seriously, am I being Punk'd? Where's Ashton Kutcher?" Ghost asked, glancing around for the illusive camera crew.

Viktor merely opened his mouth in reply, revealing the stark white fore-teeth.

"Okay, maybe I was a little off." Ghost deadpanned, wriggling his nose at the wafting scent of blood and death which made up the Russian's breath, "So what's next, a goddamn unicorn that shits out rainbows?"

* * *

><p>"Makarov," Viktor said, announcing his presence, "I have captured the masked one as you requested. He proved to be little challenge, I am disappointed."<p>

"His kind have always been weak, proof that we should be the one's ruling this planet, not the ones forced to live in the shadows," Makarov replied, "Put him with the other prisoners, maybe Anatoly might be able to get some information out of him."

Viktor bowed before leaving the control room, dragging the unconscious soldier behind him. Makarov relishing the silence, albeit briefly as no doubt the soldier's comrades wer on the way intent on rescueing him.


	3. Dainty Vampire Men tells Stories

"It all began during Stalin's Great Purges, when my father and mother were left the sole survivors of out village. Everyone else was killed by the murderous dictator, no one survived, hence the fact my parents were the sole survivors."

Ghost's eye creaked open, he felt like he'd been hit in the face with a lorry, or a truck as Roach would have called it, goofy Americans and their goofy naming differences. Armor, Armour. Color, Colour. And now he was hearing things, maybe they'd been right for calling him legally crazy and a threat to civilized civilization. That was at least until someone slapped him across the face and snapped, "Wake up!" The terribly weak and tired eyes, finally managed to open themselves up wide enough so that the Englishman could see whom was yelling at him.

Vladimir Makarov, international terrorist, and apparently vampire as well.

The Brit spat on the Russian's fine leather boots, which were topped off with a leather trench coat, a pair of leather pants which were bloused into said fine boots, and underneath this ensemble he wore a simple sweater, which oddly enough wasn't leather. Vampires seemingly had a heavy liking for leather, thankfully, no one Ghost had seen was sporting assless chaps. Ghost looked up as Makarov's face wrinkled in disgust, a grin forming on his own face beneath his mask, "What the 'ell do you want, Makarov? Telling me a bedtime story are we?"

"No, just giving you some history. To pass the time," Vladimir replied, settling into a nearby chair, resting his crossed arms on the metal piece of furniture before continuing, "Now where was I?"

"Some bullshit about you being born during the Great Purges," Ghost replied, swinging his legs around so he was in a more comfortable sitting position, leaning up against the cold concrete wall where they'd decided to detain him.

"That, that is the truth," Makarov said, daintily pulling off one of his leather's gloves, followed by the other.

"Right, and I'm the son to the friggin' Queen of England!"

"Hush, you could stand to learn something from this encounter," Makarov said, resuming his story, "As I said before, my parents were the only survivors of a brutal attack by some of Stalin's most trusted associates. They gunned down the villagers in the streets by the dozen, they only had to do this once through, we were not a very large village."

"My father was a veteran of the First World War and his time on the Eastern Front aided him in knowing the right time vacate our home of twenty years, we fled to the hills. Where he took work as a lumber jack, cutting the wood to supply Stalin's vast army during the war years but a horrible accident caused him to lose his right arm. Once more he was without work, and without an arm, trying to raise a son, mother having died in the intervening years. So he took up work as a circus bear on the side, in a bid to get money to pay the rent and put food on the table."

"Wait, how the hell did your father pass himself off as a circus bear?" Ghost asked, this story was becoming more idiotic by the second.

"Simple, he was Russian Grizzly Bear with above-par intelligence. They called him Nikolai, the workers that is. But he was as loving as any eight-hundred pound bear could be, when mother succumbed to the infection she'd gotten from some of his maggot infested food he was heartbroken. But he found love, in the form of any unlikely lover, Kamarov."

"Kamarov? Isn't that a man's name?"

"Hush, I will explain everything in due time," Makarov replied softly, "Kamarov was the bearded woman at circus where my father worked, she was beautiful and elegant, but harbored a dark secret," Makarov paused for dramatic effect, "She was actually born as a man, but in the summer of '42, as the war raged throughout Russia, Kamarov shook out a doctor willing to turn him into a man and he did. By the winter, Kamarov and my father were wed, with another child on the way. But I never met this child, for I was sent to a boarding school per my 'mother's' wishes, and that is where my descent into darkness began."

"Your descent into darkness? That's what you're calling it?" Ghost asked, flabbergasted, "You're bat-shit bonkers! 'ell, why am I surprised? You father is a bear and your mother is a goddamn man!"

Makarov ignored him and continued, "At this boarding school, I met and befriended, Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way. Meeting her was the single most perfect moment of my life, I'll never forget it. Never."

Ghost rolled his eyes, he was through asking Makarov questions about his obviously faked story. Especially about women named after a disease which destroys cognitive abilities, but he decided it would be better if he didn't.

"One day, after school, she turned me. Made me into one of her kind, into a vampire!" Makarov announced, but then added, "But in due time, I outgrew her. Became more powerful then she could ever dream, so I killed her and took my rightful place! As the leader of a new breed of vampires, who would one day rule over you mere mortals!"

Ghost yawned, "So is that it? Because while you were telling me your entire life story, my buddies had time to get into position. And call for some support as well. How 'bout you turn around and greet 'em?"

The vampire hissed, turning to face the window behind him, a heavily-armed Pavelow hovering mere feet away, "Vladimir Makarov, this is General Shepherd, surrender now or we will take you by force."

"Check and mate," Ghost said with a smirk.

"Quiet," Makarov snapped, turning back to the General, "Commander Shepherd, what makes you think I will simply surrender to you without qualms?"

"Because if you don't, well, then my man will be more then happy to put a silver bullet right through your head," Shepherd replied, gesturing to the sniper leaning out the side door of the Pavelow, a man going by the name Archer.

Makarov chuckled, "It would seem, Commander, that you have outplayed me once again."

Shepherd set his microphone down as he lit up another cigar, his team of black-suited soldiers swarming the airport, neutralizing any hostiles with well-placed silver bullets or garlic cloves, "Damn right, I have."

* * *

><p>Soap waved his hand in front the Private First Class's face, "Allen, you hear me lad?" Once more no sound, only silence, though his breathing indicated he was still a member of the living.<p>

"MacTavish, it's hopeless. I'll get some of my men down here to check him out, no guarantees," the general gave the Captain a pat on the back, "You did a fine job, grab some rest. We'll finish up here."

The Captain gave one last glance at the prone form of Allen before muttering, "Aye, sir."

Once the Captain was out of earshot, Shepherd asked, "Well, what's his status?"

The medic shook his head, "Nothing we can do, he's gonna be fully turned by the end of the night."

Shepherd nodded, withdrew his revolver and checked to see the cylinder was full, "Understood."

Allen opened his eyes, weakly, just in time to see the barrel of a gun pointed at his head before the General pulled the trigger and splattered his brains all over the tarmac.


	4. The Last Halloween

**Warning: View Discretion is advised!**

**Can't say I didn't warn you.**

Five Years Ago - Halloween Day

"I don't see why Ghost gets to skip out on this exercise," Roach groaned, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. MacTavish had been forcing him to run the Pit all day and Ghost was no where in sight.

MacTavish took a seat on a nearby table, weaponry covering it's surface, "He's home catching up with his family."

Roach took a swig from his bottle of water, "So why'd he pick Halloween of all times?"

MacTavish chuckled, "Plenty people running around in fright masks this time of year, he won't look so out of place."

"Oh."

"Well, you know what to do, run it again!"

"But, Mac, I just did," Roach whined.

MacTavish just crumbled his brow, "Do it again. Now."

"Yes, Captain," Roach muttered before taking off around the course once more, until he reached the final portion, the required drop. Instead, he tripped on his shoelace, fell off the roof onto his face and broke his arm to make matters worse, "Sonofabitch."

* * *

><p>Ghost hefted his bag as he stepped out of the crowded bus and into the bustling crowd of people desperately trying to get out of the rain and into the dry. He'd forgotten how much it rained in jolly ole London, showed how much he was home on leave. Families were out with their children getting in some last minute trick or treating before it got dark out, security had been a bitch, not that he could blame them. It'd been a solid two months since someone had tried to blow up the London Underground, or The Tube as those in the know called it, and of course, now everyone who looked even mildly threatening were subjected to extra screening by twats who'd just gotten through their two-day training course and were looking to take down terrorism all by themselves.<p>

Rows and rows of nearly identical houses each adorned with the usual Halloween flair as Ghost made his way down the block to his old family home. His steps resounding on the wooden steps as he climbed up, stepping past the glowing jack-o-lantern and onto the weathered little doormat which read 'Welcome to our home.' He smiled at the familiar sight, until he noticed a odd stain in it's center.

Blood.

Gaz had been called many things before, butcher, assassin, murderer, but nobody had caught him. He made a habit of not being caught whilst committing his various murders, but today, maybe he wanted to get caught. It'd make things so much, visceral. He hefted the hatchet once more and cleaved the head off with one blow, splattering blood onto the once clean white carpet. The head once removed he picked it up and inspected it, the face stuck in that of shock and fear. The mother, well, he assumed she was the mother considering how she'd screamed when she'd caught him gutting her child like one does a deer. He'd silenced her just as quickly with his ax, the deadly missile nearly cleaving her arm off, shock and blood loss doing the rest. Speaking of the child, he'd found the little punk trying to hide under the kitchen table after Gaz had put his ax straight through his daddy's shoulder cutting all the way to his opposite hip. Oh how easy it was to seemingly conceal a fire ax when parading around as a fire man on Halloween, this was making his just so much easier, not having to worry about concealing a weapon. He'd arranged the child's body into a beautiful design, at least to his eyes, he liked to call it The Octopus, on account of the fact he'd set the tike's intestines into a sunburst-esqe shape. Just as he was about to jam the woman's head down onto the tip of a pointed lamp, the door to the house opened, a man wearing a skull balaclava entering. The man's blue eyes widening in shock at the grotesque scene before him. Gaz picked up his ax and gently wiped the blood off it's edge before smirking at Ghost underneath his own mask.

Ghost's stomach did a barrel roll in his gut at the sight before him, nausea, and the fact the bastard had stuck around to admire his handy work made the Lieutenant's blood boil. He was going to kill this man, no matter what. He. Would. Die. No questions asked.

Ghost surged forward driving a punch into the clown mask wearing bastards gut, the foe bringing his ax down into the soldier's shoulder causing a scream of pain and anger. Using his forward momentum, Ghost slammed the assassin into the small living room's couch knocking the piece of furniture over and sending the two men sprawling on the bloody carpet. Their were no words spoken as Ghost drew back his fist, bringing it down on the maniac's face, no thoughts other then murder and destruction on Ghost's mind as his fist collided with the masked man's face. The sickening grin on the clown's face compelled him to lash out harder and more viciously each and every time he drew back his fist, he wanted to kill him. Choke the life out of the bastard with his bare hands, strangle him with his own living guts.

But the thing was laughing, laughing in his face, it was soft, a simple shuddering of the shoulder s at first until it crescendoed into a full on laughing fit. Ghost was momentarily taken aback by this sudden and seemingly random response, giving the man enough time to knock the soldier back and make a break for the exit. Ghost swiftly leapt to his feet, chasing after the fleeing murderer. The sight of two grown men, both dressed in outlandish masks and covered in blood would have been slightly more questionable were it not for the fact it were Halloween. The pair shoved and pushed their way through the bustling streets of London, receiving their fair share of curses from angry parents whose children had received a boo-boo. But Ghost was gaining, the assassin running low on steam and he paused to catch his breath when Ghost seized his chance.

Ghost struck Gaz across the jaw with a mean right hook, which knocked the clown mask wearing assassin down to the ground before the Task Force soldier delivered a kick to the other man's ribs. Ghost grabbed the man by the back of his sweatshirt before driving his fist once more into the bastards face, screaming as he did, "You like killing innocent people, you sick fuck? How's it feel to be on the receiving end, not so fun is it?"

* * *

><p>"Goddamn it honey, I am trying to drive and traffic is bad enough of without you annoying the hell out of me."<p>

"Can't you at least try to be-"

Her comment was cut short as a pair of masked men smashed into the hood of their minivan from above, shattering the windshield and causing the family of four to commence screaming. The driver in his fit of terror jerked the wheel to the left and slammed directly into the concrete median and flinging the two warring men onto the asphalt.

Ghost drug himself to his feet, yanking the other man up as well before smashing the stunned assassin's head off the cold hard steel of the car hood hard enough to dent the metal. Grabbing Gaz by the wrist before slamming his palm into the assassin's elbow, the bone snapping and tripping and tearing as it shredded through the man's arm before finally protruding out of the wrong side of the man's arm. The man's screaming was music to Ghost's ears as he let the man slump to the ground, that was until he started grinding his booted foot into the man's new injury. Gaz howled in pain as Ghost calmly lit a cigarette, "Care for a smoke, mate?"

Ghost ripped the clown mask off the bastard before jamming the smoldering cigarette into the man's eye, "You like that you son of a bitch? Spent good money on those smokes."

Gaz shrieked in pain, a blood curdling scream as Ghost stooped down to his level and grabbed the man by the jaw, "Now, normally I'd kill you right here and now. With my bare hands. However, I don't want to. You know why? Because, you can't suffer if you're dead. You're going to have to live with this just like I will."

Withdrawing his knife from it's sheath he hovered it over Gaz's finger before slamming the blade down, separating the finger from the hand on which it was normally attached, "I'll be seeing you again soon," Ghost muttered before walking away, leaving the man to his fate, he wasn't going anywhere.

* * *

><p>Present day - Halloween Day<p>

It had been five long years, and he'd never quite forgotten. The rain soaked through his mask, gluing it to his head as he stood motionlessly staring out into the darkness surrounding the base. For once, he felt like a real ghost, unaffected by the world, just watching from the sidelines. And it felt good.


	5. Cool Guys Don't Let Friends Die

The base was burning. Fire and flames licked the simple wooden buildings that Shepherd had had built so cheaply as to save money. Captain John 'Soap' MacTavish choked on the thick black smoke as he staggered through the mangled ruins, clutching his bloodied arm as he walked. Things had taken a turn for the worse, the unit had been betrayed from within. Their trust was misplaced, and they'd suffered for it. Soap clutched his knife in his good hand, but he'd avenge his men. Ghost, Roach, Archer, that guy with the Canadian accent who always said 'Eh', Paul the Janitor, and Sparkles the team mascot. Shepherd had betrayed them all with this betrayal, but until Soap's last breath was expended, he'd do everything in his power to right the wrongs committed on this fateful day.

Soap stopped to catch his breath, leaning heavily on a nearby support beam that conveniently enough wasn't engulfed in flames. The rogue general was looking the other way, watching his Shadow Company troops drop Ghost' corpse into a simple unmarked grave they'd barely you been bothered to dig. He squeezed the rubber grip of his knife until his knuckles popped from the effort, but it didn't deter him in the least. This beat down was long overdue.

"Shepherd..." he croaked, pulling himself into a fighting stance, well a wobbly fighting stance considering blood-loss and a possible concussion, "It's over..."

The general turned and smirked, "The illusive MacTavish, and here I thought I'd have to actually look for you. But here you are, bringing yourself to me."

Soap said nothing, beady eyes peering out from behind a badly bruised face, his mohawk slightly shinged to boot. He took a step forward, towards his foe. The man behind all this destruction.

"Stubborn to the end, it would seem," Shepherd growled, tossing his .44 magnum aside to one of his goons, he'd deal with this problem himself. He surged forward, his right hand drawn back into a fist which arced upward into the Scot's gut, knocking him to his knees, coughing and sputtering, "Pathetic. Just like all the others before you." The general knocked Soap onto his back with a simple kick to the shoulder, "But now it's over. For good," the general drew back his hand and drove it through Soap's chest, blood ozing and pooling underneath the downed S.A.S. soldier, "Burn the body, leave no trace of our presence."

"Not so fast now," a voice grunted, and Shepherd turned to watch as Soap pulled himself to his feet, clutching his stomach. The wound was like a thousand biting Fire Ants were trying to eat him alive, but his healing factor was going at an equal rate, replenishing blood and healing broken bones and destroyed organs.

Shepherd's eyes grew wide as the hole which he could formerly see though, restitched itself together, Shepherd growled, "That isn't physically possible. How are you still alive?"

Soap chuckled, "They spent a lot of time teaching me how to stay alive. Guess they forgot how to teach me to die."

"We'll see if I can't teach you," Shepherd boasted, ripping off his BDU shirt to reveal his old-man-abs. Soap wasn't entirely sure why he'd done this, until the General started to froth at the mouth, and his eyes turned red as his body started to increase in size and hairiness, "It's a full moon, MacTavish. My powers are at their highest, have you ever fought a werewolf operating at full power?"

"Have you fought a Scotsman, mate?"

By this point Shepherd was just one big ball of hairy fury, operating of instinct and rage as the power of the wolf took over. The ball of muscle and razor sharp claws and teeth leapt at the Captain, a giant paw snatching him around the waist. It's pútrid breath pelting the mohawked soldier, who calmly brought his knife up and jammed it into the General's eye. This new surge of pain caused Shepherd to drop the Scot who retreated back, snatching up a piece of rebar as a last minute bid to defend himself.

The wolf-monster ripped the knife out of it's eye, jaws wide in rage showing rows of dangerously sharp teeth. It's one good eye trained on the mostly-unarmed soldier, as it closed the distance between the two, slashing with it's razor sharp claws. Soap jumped back, dodging the attack and giving him time to ram the rebar through the beast' hand, impaling it to the ground. The Captain then brought out a simple M67 frag grenade, bouncing into the air a few times, he pulled the pin and underhand tossed it into the wolf-creature's mouth and walked away, "Well, Shepherd, it's been a blast."

Soap looked down at the burned scrap of material as he pondered how it'd all went so very wrong so very quickly. Shepherd had been able to betray them so easily, it was pathetic. Ghost was dead, Roach had been hospitalized for third degrees burns across almost his entire body, and yet, they'd won. Soap had won. He'd defeated the villian and saved the world, but at what price?

Was all the bloodshed worth it?

"Oh, quit yer damn mopeing you stupid bastard," a rough cockney accent snapped, drawing Soap's eyes back to the present, "I ain't that dead."

"Ghost, I told you not to sneak up on me," Soap replied, stuffing the remains of Ghost's old mask into his trouser pocket.

"Ah, it's not like I'm gonna come by to watch you wank," Ghost replied gruffly, crossing his arms as he stood over his superior, "'sides, we got more important things to do."

Soap stood up, wiping his hands on his pants before staring Ghost straight in the eye. But he couldn't, he instead burst out into laughter.

"Quit laughin', this is only temporary!" Ghost snapped, his tiny plush arms going to his equally plush hips.

Soap wiped his eye, before saying, "I'm sorry, Ghost, it's just hard for me to take you seriously when you're in the body of stuffy animal."

Ever since Ghost's untimely demise, he'd been a spirit with nowhere to lay. Apparently, hell didn't want him ruining the carefully designed image they wanted to portray and heaven didn't exactly want someone as sinful as him around. So, the man formerly called Ghost because he was a shadow of his former self was now a legitimate ghost, which made the matter of his callsign all the more humorous. Then, seeking a suitable body for the man to inhabit they'd happened upon a simple stuffed toy in the shape of a man. Roach being morally opposed to the idea of Ghost inhabiting some living things body and forcing their soul to walk the earth, and Ghost opposed to the idea of occupying some form of roadkill. So the stuffed animal had worked for the short term, not that Ghost was entirely satisfied with this.

"I said, can it!"

"I outrank you," Soap replied simply.

"You wouldn't pull rank on me," Ghost replied, narrowing his eyes at his comrade-in-arms,"Would you?"

"No, though I would give your arse to my daughter as a Christmas present."

"You don't even have a bloody daughter, you single bastard."

"Don't make me pull your stuffing out," Soap threatened lightly.


End file.
